The Monster Within
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Bruce returned, but the need to run was strong . . . The only thing holding him back was Tony. The other man needed him. He just didn't know how much he would need him in turn. (Indefinite Hiatus)
1. Prologue

**The Monster Within**

"Natasha said to run, so I ran."

Bruce clutched the blanket around him. It was a small comfort to a large problem, but the touch of something warm against his skin made him feel less exposed. There was something reassuring about feeling constrained and enclosed, as if the other guy couldn't get out or the world couldn't get in, but – most of all – this was a cell of his making, not a prison of someone else's design. It was self-imposed, which meant he could still escape. There was a _freedom_ with it. There was a _choice_.

He looked around the floor with a nervous gaze, as he tried to ascertain what risks were in place, and – without J.A.R.V.I.S. – he felt even more lost than he otherwise would, as he found himself curious what new programme was in place and how it would respond to him. There was an oddly calm feeling about the Avengers Tower, even as he wandered in looking rather conspicuous and messy to say the least, and yet no one stopped him or even questioned him about his place there . . . the damage was fixed, the Avengers were gone, and there was only an eerie sense of peace. It was as if he were never there to begin with, as if he didn't quite belong there even now . . . he held the blanket tighter.

The air felt rather fresh and crisp, but he didn't feel cold in the least. Pepper merely watched him from the sofa opposite with a somewhat nervous expression, and he couldn't blame her for that apprehension. It didn't take a genius to realise that the news and media had skewered events to show him at his worst, but then . . . what was his worst? Tony _stopped_ him before things went too far. There was a back-up plan . . . an emergency continuance . . . there was enough in place to keep him from doing something truly irrevocable, but what would happen on the one day when these things weren't in place? One day he would go too far.

"Do you need me to get Tony?" Pepper asked.

"No, not yet," Bruce said with a sigh. "I – I just need some space . . ."

It was hard not to see the subtle way she adjusted her body. He smiled sheepishly to himself, as if he was merely trying to reassure her, but he caught the way that her hands tightened on her knee and the way her back straightened. It was that kind of reaction that people seemed to adopt when they wondered whether the other guy might show, as if he _didn't_ have complete control over it, and – mind control aside – he had better control than the average guy in anger management classes. He tried not to resent her; she hid it better than most.

"I have to ask," said Pepper, "but do you remember how you got here?"

"I'd . . . rather not talk about it," he admitted. "It wasn't easy, Pepper. I created a _murderbot_, then I let – I let my _mind_ be taken over . . . I – I don't know who I am any more, Pepper, but I feel _safe_ here. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know where I am . . . where else could I go?"

"You're welcome to stay here, Bruce, truly, but you have to know that this isn't a viable long-term solution. I'm sure Tony will be happy to have his . . . 'science bro' . . . back, but what if S.H.I.E.L.D. needs the other guy?" Pepper looked to him with a sad smile. "If it's not too personal, but Tony mentioned that you and Natasha were . . . close? At the very least, doesn't she deserve an explanation as to where you are?"

"I'd . . . rather not get into that. Natasha was . . . _is_ . . . a remarkable woman. I thought that by being with her, I'd be denying her something . . . now I realise that _I_ would have been the one denied. I would have been denying myself. Natasha wanted me to run away from the monster I was, but Tony wanted me to embrace it . . . this is the best of both worlds, I guess."

"Do you ever get tired of running?" Pepper asked. "It sounds so exhausting."

"I don't have any choice. I stop running, I lose."

"You make it sound like a game."

Bruce laughed despite himself, as he leaned back against the wall. He was sat on the floor, with his bare feet touching the soft carpet, and yet he remained hunched over with eyes downcast upon his shadow. It was hard to remember whether he always felt this way; the anger was always seething beneath the surface, suppressed and desperate to be expressed, but the expression of that rage was something beyond his control, and instead it festered and seethed inside of him. _Smile through it, pretend it's all okay and it may be okay._

Meditation helped. There were also the old-fashioned methods of counting to ten and visualising a better place, but it was always there. It brought with it fear; he feared the other guy getting loose, he feared everyone knowing just how fragile the wall was that held his emotions back, and he feared _losing_ himself to the emotion. This may have been what Tony felt with his anxiety and post-traumatic stress, just as this may have been what Wade Wilson endured with a depression barely concealed with a smile, and Bruce felt less alone in the realisation that there were others like him, and yet -? There were _none_ like him.

He could kill someone just with a temper tantrum . . .

He could destroy a city with a stamp of his foot.

"I guess it is a game," he said.

It was then that he looked up to see the concern on Pepper's face, which filled him with a familiar sense of shame. He looked away and ran a hand across the back of his neck, as he tried to distract himself, but all he felt was the cold touch of his palm on warm skin, and it only reminded him of just how cold his life had become in recent years. There was no way out _except_ to run, as even the bullet in his brain had been spat out by the other guy, and to stay in one place was to risk the lives of those he loved.

"Doesn't sound like there are any winners," Pepper observed.

"There aren't," said Bruce sadly. "I can't get my heart-rate up without the other guy making an appearance, but what person wants a relationship like that? It hurts . . . all I've ever wanted was a family, you know? I just . . . even if I _could_ . . . the radiation alone -! It's – it's not something I've ever mentioned to Peter, but there will come a day where he'll watch Mary Jane die, knowing that the radiation from his . . . I – I couldn't do that to another person. I couldn't subject a person to that kind of mess. What else can I do?"

"Natasha must have understood that, but she wanted to be with you anyway," said Pepper. "You still have a chance at happiness, Bruce, don't let your chance slip you by over a fear of something that might not even be an issue. Does Natasha even want children of her own?"

"No, she doesn't . . . she _can't_."

Bruce thought to Natasha's expression, at how angry she seemed in that moment, a barely concealed rage that he could relate to so well, and yet he knew that pain wasn't measured on some scale . . . he could never understand her, just as she would never understand him, but did they _need_ to understand one another? No, probably not, but they would need trust, and – after what she did – he wasn't sure that he was capable of that level of trust. He wanted a friendship like he held with Tony, perhaps a love like he once knew with Betty, but neither of those he could have with someone that . . . he shook his head with a sad smile.

"Like I said, it's complicated."

"Well, feel free to stay here for a while," said Pepper kindly.

"Thank you. I appreciate it, honestly."

He saw her smile, even as there was a hint of worry upon her expression. It made him wonder where Tony was and what he now did, without the Avengers team to support him and adamant on staying away from them, and he wondered whether their friendship would remain intact or instead lay in pieces. He wondered whether Natasha would forgive him. He wondered what his place would be in this world. Most of all? He wondered when the end would come and death would overtake him, giving him peace finally . . .

"Are you okay, Bruce? You look a little . . ."

"Sorry, I was just thinking," he said.

"What were you thinking about?"

Bruce smiled sadly.

"The end."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"So . . . you busy?"

Bruce drew in a deep breath.

He continued to look at the screen before him, even as the designs spun around almost incoherently, and – no matter what the resolution or size – the design refused to become any clearer with his observations and investigations. It was almost as if it were designed _to be_ as nonsensical as possible, like a blueprint jigsaw, and he felt more and more that he merely had _pieces_ of an overall plan and not the plan itself. The only logical solution was to minimize the holographic projection onto a two-dimensional screen and look at it afresh . . .

There was every chance that Tony split his design into sections, with the intent that most be pieced together in a specific layout and the final portion was committed to memory, in the most _insanely_ paranoid scheme to keep his ideas secret, but – if that were the case – why make this the very first project with which to consult Bruce upon? There were a few points that needed improved too, where a tweaking of the mathematics would lead to a better overall result, but that was _assuming_ that fixing _one_ part would fix _all_ parts, but a unseen knock-on effect was not something he could risk. Bruce ran a hand through his hair and gripped hard for a moment, as the sharp sensation brought him to his senses.

"Yo, you're looking at it upside down."

Bruce closed his eyes for a second and drew in a breath. He needed to concentrate, but the laboratory felt too chilly and he felt far too exposed. The others should assume him lost in an ocean somewhere, perhaps even dead, but here he was and – at any moment – there was the chance that someone might discover him. No, he couldn't think about that. He couldn't let his personal problems interfere with the science of what he strove to do, and – as such – he began to count his breathing and meditate silently. The answers would come, but he couldn't force them. This needed to be a natural process or else he risked stress overwhelming him.

It was then that something struck his head.

He leaned back against the desk and crossed an arm over his stomach, whilst his other hand came up to massage the bridge of his nose, but he felt another small blow right between his eyebrows that stung just a little. There was another small sting to his hand, before something fell upon the folded arm and rested there. Bruce looked down to see a small chocolate-coated peanut on the hairs of his arm, where already the chocolate began to melt against the body heat, and he was tempted to raise his arm to eat the peanut, except he worried it might encourage Tony . . . Tony who picked it off his arm and ate it.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Bruce asked.

"I got bored," he said calmly. "Aren't you supposed to be the scientist? I'm just the engineer here, but it seems like _I'm_ the one having all the good ideas. _Just saying!_ Look, that piece going here like this –" Tony pulled an image down and flipped it "– and this one goes underneath. I figured the magnet would interfere with this piece, so I'll tweak it later."

"It sounds like you have it all covered." Bruce dropped his hand down with a sigh. "That also sounds _far_ too modest for the genius inventor that managed to upgrade a _shield_ of all things, not to mention created and destroyed a murderbot in the same week." He gave Tony a hard stare. "What's this really about, Tony?"

"Aw, come on, Ultron was our vision! _No pun intended_! Can't one mad scientist call his deranged robot's baby-momma over for some scientific investigation? I figured we'd pop some corn, do each other's hair, try not to destroy the world in the process . . ."

"Uh-huh, I'm leaving, Tony. I have _actual_ work to be doing."

"Don't be like that! I need your advice!"

Bruce turned his head to give him a hard stare. The laboratory looked different to when they last stood in that same space, which was only to be expected when said 'deranged robot' destroyed the entire floor in a horrific blunder, and yet the new décor did little to allay Bruce's anxiety or concerns. It was forever a sterile and mechanical place, filled with either blueprints and designs or machines and equipment, and it reminded Bruce of his life before the other guy, as well as the eternal fear that – one day – _he'd_ be the thing being studied.

The look that Tony wore was almost sincere, which was to be expected, simply because a man that didn't care about someone would not invite them to stay within their home, let alone to work with them inside a laboratory filled with rather confidential projects, and yet he felt an iota of suspicion. It wasn't that Tony was a bad guy or a bully, but – in some respects – he was _worse_ than those things . . . he had _charm_, which made him irresistible to business partners, platonic friends and potential bed-mates. He _knew_ how to play to Bruce's passion for science, his search for knowledge for knowledge's sake, and Bruce – too weak to resist out of reasons of his own – _always_ seemed to succumb. It made him responsible, too.

This could be a dicey prospect. He didn't want to get roped into something dangerous, especially when he _needed_ to keep a low profile, and he already felt his heart begin to race a little at the idea of being involved in something dangerous. A surreptitious glance to his watch, disguised as indifference and a desire to know the time, revealed that he was growing worried and needed to rein in his feelings. Tony looked somewhat tired, in an old t-shirt that was as worn as it was dated, and he scrunched the plastic bag of treats in a way that made him seem nervous, and perhaps he was nervous . . . he was the anxious sort, after all.

"What have you done, Tony?"

"I haven't done anything, that's the problem!" Tony threw another peanut at him. "Anyway, who was the one that went all 'bam' and 'smash'? You don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to judging me! I'd say you should be on your knees begging for forgiveness, but that's _really_ not a mental image I need right now." Tony winked at him. "Too distracting."

"Uh-huh, well, as much as I'm sure Pepper will appreciate you flirting –"

"What! We're friends! Friends flirt! It's the law!"

"Tony, I _really_ can't have this –"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh!"

Tony threw up his hands in mock surrender. It was then that he appeared to remember that he still held the bag of nuts, which he did a double take upon seeing, as if they personally offended him in some manner, and he then stowed them away in a drawer to be eaten later. He looked like he lost a little weight, not to mention that his face held a few more lines since Bruce last saw him, and it was clear that age was beginning to encroach its way into Tony's life, and hopefully that age would bring maturity. Tony sat down on the table edge.

"Pepper and I . . . we're having problems."

"Problems?" Bruce asked.

He saw the way that Tony's eyes half-rolled and his smile faded slightly, as if he were trying to hold on to his façade of indifference and arrogance, whilst inside a part of him was genuinely suffering from some sort of deep concern. They both had little tells, ones that only the other could decipher, and they became good friends for a reason, so that on _meeting_ one another there was an instant connection. They _understood_ one another, which is why Bruce understood in turn that Tony was working over some internal problem over and over in his mind, much like Bruce did with his past mistakes and the fear of the other guy . . . Tony was worried about something and barely holding it together. He hid it well.

"How do you know when something's over?"

"How do _I_ know?" Bruce asked. "Nothing is ever over for me, because nothing can ever _start_. You can tell me to embrace myself for what I am, but Natasha was right . . . sometimes you just need to _run_. I'm not like you, Tony. I've never stuck around to see how something ends; I've spent my whole life trying to hide from the truth . . . past loves, past mistakes, even the other guy . . . I don't know when something over, _because my life already is over_."

"Come on, don't do the chick-flick thing! You're making it sound so much worse than it is! You got to travel the world, invent new stuff, save people's lives -! You're pretty much living the dream, except mean and green! You pretty much _had_ Natasha, if you wanted her, too! Let me just say this: _damn_. I would have if I could have, trust me! You were lucky!"

"I travelled, because I was trying to hide from government agencies." Bruce pushed at the bridge of his glasses. "I 'invented' stuff, because I needed to keep busy. I saved people, but the few I saved does not _compare_ to the many I put in danger. I'm a monster."

"Putting people in danger makes you a monster? What am I then?"

"Tony, that's a different matter entirely, you never –"

"Meant it? Neither did you."

Bruce pulled off his glasses, before he rubbed a hand over his face. He felt his heart begin to race a little, in the way that only Tony ever managed, and he was forced to drawn in a deep breath, even as he let his hand rest over mouth and held tight. There was a slight breeze from somewhere in the laboratory, which made Bruce look around awkwardly, in case that Pepper or someone had arrived, but he couldn't help but feel a stab of anger inside his chest, as he fought back the frustration of his past actions . . . Tony underestimated his guilt.

"Well, what about Natasha?" Tony asked.

The question was surprisingly innocent from someone like Tony. Bruce slid his glasses back onto his nose, before he rubbed at his mouth and looked longingly to the door, where he felt _such_ a strong temptation to just walk away and keep walking until he hit the ocean. There was no way to end his life in the literal sense, but he could easily flee the country and end it in the figurative sense, so that even Tony would be unable to find him. It was easy to stay hidden when you didn't want to be found. He knew all the tricks. The only downside to hiding from himself was _losing_ himself . . . it was too much a risk to fall into false security.

"What about her?" Bruce asked in turn.

"Do I need to spell it out?" Tony threw his hands wide in the air. "I had her working for me for all of _ten minutes_ and I was having sex secretary fantasies! I'll also add that if her tongue can roll her R's like that, imagine what it can do to your -!"

"_Tony_," said Bruce sternly, "I respect Natasha too much to have this discussion. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in her, it was just . . . in another life – in another world – we may have been perfect for each other. We've both done things we regret . . . the choice to have children was taken from us . . . I think we both even define ourselves by how _others_ define us, but after what happened -? It's complicated, okay? It takes more than some similarities to make a relationship work . . . it takes _trust_ to make a relationship work.

"I wanted to _run_, but she _used_ me – she played against my _worst_ fears – to do something that I didn't want to do in the least . . . I forgive her, of course I do, because it was _necessary_, but how can I trust her as a life-partner after that? I – I tried to _kill_ her once as the other guy, so I don't think she could ever fully trust me, too, even if she _knows_ that wasn't really me, because that – that's always going to be a _part_ of me! What? Do we – do we just _cling_ to each other because we're the _closest_ thing to an equal either one of us can get? Doesn't Natasha deserve better than that? She deserves someone that will _never_ hurt her . . ."

"So you're going to sacrifice love with Natasha because you're too self-loathing and noble to chase a relationship with her? Wow. You'd think a guy _that_ good would _at least_ tell her all that to her face, give a girl some closure, but I guess I'm not _good_ enough to understand what it means to respect a woman enough to tell her to her face that it's over."

"No, you just bed them and have Pepper kick them out," snapped Bruce. "No, actually, now you _have_ a monogamous and stable relationship, but instead of talking to _Pepper_ about your concerns, you're talking to _me_. Is that was maturity and nobility are now?"

"I'd ask if you were just _green_ with envy, but . . . you know?"

"Oh God, am I -?"

Bruce took a shaky step back. He – he closed his eyes and tried to focus, because if his irises were turning green with frustration . . . panic wouldn't help; he knew that anxiety was often fed by anxiety, so sometimes the _anticipation_ of fear caused the fear itself. He couldn't let that happen. It was like something inside was trying to push out, as he felt his heart race and palms grow sweaty, and there was a feeling that made his body light and his head dizzy, until the world began to swim around him. _Deep breaths, in and out, no one can hurt you._

It took him a while to remind himself that _he_ was in control, but he felt so _out_ of control and that in itself made his rationalisations spiral in a whole other direction, until he realised that he was _convincing _himself that things would end badly. This would soon become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He raised both hands – shaking and cold – to his mouth, where he cupped them together and drew in a couple of breaths, before he dropped them in shame that it would seem he was hyperventilating. It – it didn't matter the times that the other guy got loose without his consent, what mattered were the _thousands_ of times he reined him in.

_One, two, three . . ._

He remembered his counting exercises, as well as his breathing techniques, and he purposely forced his hands to unclench and rested them upon his thighs . . . he forced himself to look at Tony, so that he could remind himself that he wasn't alone, and he rationalised everything in his mind as best as he could. The anger soon abated, as the warning beeps of his watch settled down and stopped, and he walked over to where Tony stood and fished around in the drawer next to him, because – if Tony hid food – he most certainly hid some sort of beverage as well, and it seemed he was right. He opened the bottle of water and gulped heavily.

"Hey, slow down," said Tony. "You don't want to choke."

Bruce slowed down and capped the bottle, before he dropped it back into the drawer and sat in a chair next to his friend. He dropped his head into his hands, where he gripped tightly at his hair and allowed the pain to distract him, and – eventually – the anxiety began to ease and a sense of peace replaced it. _This too shall pass_. He smiled awkwardly despite himself, as his eyes felt water, and he drew in a shaking breath as the embarrassment hit. The realisation he could control it was lessened with the cold truth that one day he _wouldn't_ be able to control it.

"I'm sorry that you had to see that," whispered Bruce.

"Hey, don't worry about it," said Tony. "I wouldn't prod and poke unless I thought you could take it! Steve can say what he wants, but you've got better control than that. Listen, you don't want to talk about Natasha, I can get that, let's change the topic, okay?"

"Thanks, Tony. I appreciate that. I honestly do."

"So . . . me and Pepper?"

Bruce smiled weakly and looked up at Tony. The other man simply gave a 'what' gesture and leaned back against the desk with an expectant gaze, and it made Bruce curious. He wondered what could be going on between Pepper and Tony, especially when they were such a good couple despite their differences, and he hoped that something serious hadn't occurred between them. Pepper and Tony, rather like Jane and Thor, were a couple that were so stable and complementary that they almost gave hope to others that saw them, as an example of how something so improbable could work despite everything. If they could break apart, it meant that there was no hope for anyone. Bruce gave a sad sigh.

"You know that I'm not –"

"That kind of doctor?" Tony shrugged. "True, but you _are_ that kind of friend. Look, the whole PTSD thing was a major issue between us, and I still don't think she's forgiven me for a lot of my bad choices, you know? Just – lately – she's spending so much time away. It's enough to make a guy feel like second-best or something. I mean, she stuck by me through the alcoholism and the womanising, but when I need her most -?"

"Tony, she's in a _very_ high level job that has a _huge_ level of responsibility," argued Bruce. "It's a job that _you_ gave her and that benefits _you_. I have to admire her for working so hard and achieving so much, especially when she _earned_ her position and _deserves _it, and – well – you can't expect someone to be around _all_ the time. I think that's called co-dependency."

"Hey, it's not like that! I'm proud of her, honestly! It'd just be nice to have some quality time together, too, where we can support each other and all that girly stuff . . . like this! I guess I thought being monogamous would come with something _more_ than the one-night stands."

"You mean like unconditional love, someone loyal to you, and stability?"

"No, like a – a _friend_ and _support_. You know what I mean?"

"You mean you want a companion?"

Tony threw up his hands in the air, as if thanking some unseen deity, before he turned to Bruce with an expression that seemed to say 'thank you'. It was as if he thought that Bruce could understand, but – in all honesty – he felt nothing but a mixture of exasperation and amusement, because Tony was ever the mystery to him. He wondered whether Tony was expecting too much, just as he wondered whether Tony wanted a relationship at all, and he leaned back to run a handover his face tiredly. Tony gave his usual smirk.

"Yeah, a companion!" Tony shouted. "I think?"

Bruce let out a loud laugh. It wasn't that it was particularly funny, but it was very much like Tony to confuse various types of love and conflate them in to one. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and smiled sadly, as he wondered just how lonely Tony's childhood must have been, and – in all honesty – it was simply lucky that Tony didn't confuse sex with love, because that would have been a very awkward conversation to have. It amazed him how a man so deeply intelligent and intuitive could have absolutely atrocious interpersonal skills. He gave a sigh and decided to try a different approach and asked:

"Do you know what you _want_ out of a relationship?"

"Yeah, of course," said Tony. "I want someone hot and horny for physicality, but brainy and creative to challenge me, but also really supportive and _there_ so I can confess all my stuff and get it off my chest! It should have been Pepper I confessed to, but somehow _you_ ended up as my therapist, and when everyone was all – like – happy and stuff at the party, I was making excuses for why Pepper wasn't there. I guess it just doesn't feel enough . . ."

"Tony . . . you're great, but you're not that _great_," muttered Bruce. "If you break up with Pepper, all because you're looking for someone better, you might _never_ find someone as good as her ever again. Relationships go both ways . . . buying her food that she's allergic to, ignoring her advice and nearly _killing_ her with your suit . . . it – it doesn't look good."

"Hey, I'm trying, alright? We just have different interests. I spend all my time in my lab and she spends all her time in her office, so when am I _supposed_ to get to know her better? There's also this other thing . . . it's a bit confusing and all . . . trying to work it out."

"Feelings aren't like engineering, Tony. Overanalysing it might be –"

"Nah, this is something else . . . another problem."

That captured Bruce's full attention. He looked to see that Tony appeared somewhat unnerved, which was somewhat suspicious . . . Tony could memorise entire papers of research in a single night, as such he could likely find the answer to any problem without so much as consulting another person. It was tempting to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. until he remembered that the A.I. was no longer with them, which was enough to make him feel a stab of both guilt and nostalgia, until he nodded to Tony and prodded the conversation along.

"Are you going to tell me?"

Tony shrugged and reached out to take a small device from the table, which he used to bring up the blueprints once more in holographic form, and used them to distract himself from the matter at hand. It was as if he were a child of sorts, as he sought to use something external to pretend as if the internal were of no concern. Bruce let Tony have the space he needed to compose his thoughts, as he expected some sort of explanation, but none came.

"Maybe later," muttered Tony. "Hey, help me out with this?"

It was then that Tony pointed at a problem with one of the designs, which was clear even to Bruce, but the problem would be _how_ to fix it, especially when the mathematics to fix it would be time-consuming indeed. He wanted to help his friend, although he wanted more to run and hide in his specially designed floor, where he _knew_ he would be unable to hurt anyone – even hulked out – and yet he realised Tony _needed_ this. Tony needed to not be alone. He needed a _friend_. It was enough to make Bruce stand up and roll his shoulders.

"Sure," Bruce said quietly.


End file.
